


Subsets of Sets

by Sara Generis (kanadka)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Animal Transformation, Body Modification, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanadka/pseuds/Sara%20Generis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While hosting the other Scandinavian countries, Finland makes a new friend. Kink-meme deanon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt in question was for particularly painful transformations, I hope I did okay on the body horror side of things. EstFin but also DenFin if you squint. Inspired heavily by Johanna Sinisalo's Troll: A love story, as well as some elements of Estonian/Finnish werewolf mythology. More mythological than historical.

Finland is out in the forest hunting when he hears the crack of a branch behind him.  
  
He stops. He holds his breath. He waits a moment, his body perfectly immobile.  
  
Nothing. He relaxes with difficulty and continues on.   
  
He ordinarily wouldn't be so deep in the forest, not with all those lakes. If it were just him, he'd fish something. Something small, no leftovers. If it were summer, he'd find a patch of berries.  
  
But it is midwinter and Sweden is over tonight, and he has brought with him Norway and Denmark, and between those three there will be large appetites. Elk meat would be nice, and with so many to their party they can share one between the four of them with plenty to spare. And he'd like to impress them.  
  
He spots an elk in the distance. Finland has very good eyes, and even better aim. He laces the arrow to the bow, holds it steady and then lifts the whole up -  
  
Another crack behind him.  
  
The elk hears it too, looks back, spots him, and immediately races off into the woods.  
  
Finland swears and contemplates running after it, or taking off in the other direction. He supposes that to find other prey, he might have better chance heading away from the echoing thumps of a large, loud animal's hooves. So, he turns.  
  
There is a great wolf in his path behind him.  
  
His heart races and he freezes.  
  
The animal stops as well.  
  
It seems calm. Too calm. Will it pounce? Worse still, are there more? Finland has a bootknife, he can get it fast and maybe, maybe avoid death.  
  
But if there's one wolf, there's a pack, and against a pack, a single blade means not much.  
  
He lifts his weapon as one entity to point at the wolf's face, bowstring taut, arrow prepared.  
  
The wolf cocks its head.  
  
And then it rests back upon its hindquarters and scratches its ear.  
  
Finland lowers the weapon and looks around, expecting Denmark with a bad punchline. This ... it has to be a joke, right?  
  
He backs up, slowly. The wolf stops scratching and watches him perform his slow retreat. But at no point does the wolf move other than that.  
  
At ten paces' distance, he warily turns his back on the creature - he needs to watch where he's going in the forest, lest he run into trees (or the rest of the pack). He checks his shoulder every three paces.  
  
The wolf hasn't moved.  
  
Strange, he thinks. Maybe he'll take up Norway's offer of a good-luck charm.  
  
\--  
  
Fifteen minutes later he is back on track, although his nerves have not calmed any. He gets behind a hill and finds a ravine on the other side, through which a small stream runs. An elk and her calf drink happily, paying no attention. Finland grins and prepares his bow -  
  
\- and a wolf howls.  
  
He glares. The cow and calf scatter immediately.  
  
Across from him over the ravine, on the opposite hill, is the wolf, standing on all fours, with its head again tilted, like it doesn't know what it's doing. Finland's not buying it. He can't tell from this distance by the wolf's colouring alone - a wolf is a wolf to him, he's no expert - but he's convinced it's the same wolf as before.  
  
He is wasting time out here and it's getting cold and there's a tent full of hot rocks with his name on it.  
  
"Fine," Finland yells at it, "we'll just have duck then. It's okay, I don't mind! It's not like I wanted to impress my new friends or anything!"  
  
The wolf, naturally, says nothing, and Finland curses at it, then flounces off back down the hill.

\--  
  
He shoots one duck with success and amidst the thunk of his arrow, the flapping of wings as the duck's companion takes flight, there comes a  _whoosh_  of a blur between his legs. A massive body knocks his feet out from under him and he falls back on his rear.  
  
When Finland sits back upright, angry with a bruised tailbone, he spots the wolf - of course it's the same one, it has to be - a distance off, where the duck is, its head bowed.  
  
"Damn stupid wolf!" he shouts at it.  
  
The wolf responds by shaking the duck out by the neck. The blood gets thrown in squirts, either side of the wolf's jaws. "What, you want to kill it even more? I already shot it," Finland replies.  
  
Ignoring him, the wolf gets a firm hold on the duck's neck and trots back happily. Finland could swear it's smiling around that duck. "I hope you enjoy it, you jerk," Finland says, getting up, "just leave some for me next time, you know, I have to eat too -"  
  
The wolf plops the dead duck at Finland's feet.  
  
Then it sits back on its hind legs again and looks up at Finland with big green eyes.  
  
Then it smiles and pants, as though expecting a reward.  
  
Oh, he realises.  
  
It seems he's found a friend.  
  
"What am I going to do with you," Finland asks.  
  
It whines a reply and noses the duck carcass atop his boots, where it bleeds onto the leather. Finland tries really hard not to be too disgusted. The wolf probably means well.  
  
\--  
  
He shoots another three ducks - they are small things, this time of year - and each time, the wolf races ahead to fetch them. It shakes them by the neck, possibly to snap the bones, although Finland knows perfectly well he's a good shot and the ducks are dead to begin with. Then it brings back the dead duck to Finland.  
  
Each time, Finland could swear the wolf is grinning. When the wolf retrieves the last duck, without thinking he reaches out a hand and pats the wolf on its big furry head, before he even realises what he's done.  
  
But little Fenrir doesn't clamp down and make off with Tyr's right hand, so Finland supposes he's safe (or that Norway's myths don't apply in his lands - whichever).  
  
Three ducks for his dinner party. One for the wolf.  
  
This day is getting to him, he thinks, when he gives the last duck back to the wolf and says, "For you. You helped, after all," and he swears to his gods that the wolf smiles at him before plunging its muzzle into the duck's bloody breast, feathers and all.


	2. Chapter 2

They dine on duck roasted over the fire the first night, and soup made of the bones of three ducks the next. The soup is greasy, but Denmark kneads a decent bread that soaks up much of the fat and it is both palatable and warming. The rest of the time is spent in the sauna. Norway is not sure he likes it, Finland has taken Sweden there once before so it isn't new to him, and Denmark doesn't mind so long as he gets more to drink.  
  
Denmark, Finland gathers, approves immensely of Finland based solely on the drink. Despite the attitude Norway takes anytime Denmark says anything at all - he shakes his head and looks to the sky as though it will send him strength to deal with the Danish loon - Finland is instantly fond of him, because unlike Sweden and Norway, Denmark is very easy to please and very obviously pleased. This cuts Finland's work in half.  
  
Don't know why anybody would dislike him, he thinks privately; after all, Finland has been nothing but charitable and hospitable, but all the same, one has one's insecurities, and Norway and Sweden are very frozen for warm-blooded people. Finland feels obliged to put on a good show, even if he'd really rather just sit around the house with no pants on and drink.  
  
Denmark seems like the kind of guy that would be okay with that. Denmark even seems like the kind of guy who would join him.  
  
\--  
  
Norway accompanies him the following day. It turns out his good-luck charm was he himself.  
  
Together, they find a deer and make an easy kill. That's good, Finland supposes.  
  
But the wolf doesn't appear, not once. He tries to keep a covert eye out for it without Norway figuring it out - he doesn't want to worry Norway with unnecessary danger - but halfway through gutting the carcass, Norway looks at him, studying, and asks, "Are you saying thanks?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"For the animal. Thanks, to the gods." Finland's bewilderment must still be apparent so Norway elaborates. "You keep looking around. The horizon, the tree line. You're looking for something. An answer to your prayers?"  
  
"No."  
  
Norway smiles. "You're lying."  
  
"No, I meant, I wasn't - praying. Thanking anyone."  
  
"You should," Norway replies. He wipes his blade clean of blood on the snow. "I did, just in case you didn't. But you took the shot, the gods would prefer to hear it from you."  
  
"I don't think your gods really work here," Finland says, and Norway - not wanting to argue - shrugs non-committally.  
  
Finland says thanks to them anyway, and feels a little stupid for it. Praying, for Finland, comes before a hunt, not after the kill, and he already asked Tapio for something big before they left. Tapio gave it to him, Tapio was listening.  
  
Later that night, over dinner, he asks Tapio that, if he insists on sending Finland out with a hunting friend to ward against strange creatures, make it one who isn't Norway. Denmark, perhaps.  
  
\--  
  
Two days later, they exhaust the options with the deer. Finland arises late from a huge drinking binge the night before - he likes his new friends all very much when they're drunk, Norway is unguarded and Sweden, always a good friend, becomes sociable for a change - so he gets a late start. He puts the porridge on for the others but knows that their bellies will want filling with something more substantial than some of Denmark's rolls.  
  
He goes fishing. Enough meat and fowl, he thinks. While the ice isn't so thick when he drills, it's not yet time for the alder to flower, and the pulmunen birds aren't back from the lands over the brackish sea, the one Sweden calls 'Eastern'. He carves himself a hole to the water beneath, sets up a blanket and stool to sit on, and begins.  
  
It is nearly well past midday before anything bites, however. He sighs.  
  
Then he hears a responding huff of air, like a sigh, but through a muzzle.  
  
He turns although he knows exactly who it is.  
  
The wolf is laid down nearby, its massive jaws propped up on its paws. When it notices Finland's attention on it, it becomes more alert and looks very interested in what Finland is doing. It looks from Finland's fishing line, to Finland, to the fishing line.  
  
Finland tugs the line as though trying to explain it. "Fish," he supplies, pointing at the hole in the ice.  
  
The animal cocks its head.  
  
"Why am I talking to a wolf," Finland asks aloud.

The wolf's eyes almost glow in the afternoon sun - it's very eerie. That's probably why Finland has begun to treat it like a strange, creepy friend. It must be.  
  
Shortly before the sun goes down, his stomach growls. He's only caught the two fish so far, that's not enough. He pulls out a roll from his pocket and gnaws off a few bites, and is rewarded moments later with a final fish. Excellent, he can leave now. Just in time, his rear was getting numb and cold from sitting still so long.  
  
Finland looks at the roll and supposes that he's done with it, so he tosses it to the wolf, who gobbles it up greedily. He takes up the last fish and is in the middle of retrieving his hook from its jaws when he hears a noise behind him.  
  
A low snarl.  
  
Shouldn't have trusted it. Shouldn't have turned his back. Finland like lightning retrieves the knife in his boot and is ready to spin round, plunge it into a pouncing wolf -  
  
But the wolf is not near him. The wolf is paying him no attention, in fact, but rather pacing back and forth, growling softly. It paws at the ice, stops, uses both front paws to dig and then gives that up. It noses at the ice, it sits back down and scratches its nose with its front paws.  
  
Its dewclaws dig deep and leave blood along its nose, but that doesn't seem to appease the wolf, for it continues. "Stop," Finland says, "don't - you'll hurt yourself!"  
  
The wolf ignores him and scratches deeper. It gets back up, restless, and tries to pace on shaky legs.  
  
And then the wolf crumples like its legs cannot support its weight. It falls to its side, rolls on the back and to the other side, then back again, wriggling to grind its withers against the ice. It begins twitching. A low whine escapes its mouth, and is followed swiftly by louder ones. Its legs kick madly, running in mid-air.  
  
Finland gasps. Is it having a stroke, is it the bread? He'd thought certainly, a wolf could eat anything, even if not meat, has he poisoned the creature?  
  
If it's a seizure, it's a good place to have it, he thinks, on the ice, away from anything that the wolf could hurt itself on. Just ice around it. As long as this isn't a madness, as long as it won't try to attack him.  
  
But Finland has his knife. And the wolf looks a little busy, and isn't even responding to input.  
  
Finland can't make himself go nearer the animal, all the same. He longs to comfort the poor creature - for now its cries are loud and long, plaintive. He's an accomplished hunter but he's never heard an animal make a sound like that, not even in death!  
  
Is that what is happening to this beast?  
  
The wolf emits a nervous, shaky tremolo of a tone. It appears to vibrate through its body and Finland wonders if noise truly is the only thing that's leaving the creature, painfully and slowly, dragged out by hooks. A particularly loud squeal. Wolves don't squeal!  
  
Please, he thinks to his gods, make it quick, be merciful, what could this creature have ever done to deserve this?  
  
And then Finland notices that the wolf's legs are longer. Less bowed back. The paws are elongated and misshapen. They look less like paws and more like paddles, and they become longer and wider still. Because they are - oh gods -  
  
They are  _growing_.  
  
Finland is too terrified to move.

A god of wolves? Is it? Is it a god, or some devil he's released from his bounds?  
  
If it's a devil, Finland should run!  
  
But no creature, no matter how evil, deserves to be in such pain.   
  
The beast's front legs grow, their limbs double in length and slowly extend forward. The knobs of bone shift underneath, moving this way and that, their travels stretching the skin and pushing it around as easily as cloth. The paw broadens and the pads grow into longer digits. Its legs still spasm and twitch, though now the wolf-thing can rest on its back and spread its arms out flat on either side, which normal four-legged creatures can't do. But instead of laying crosswise on its back on the ice, the animal curls in on itself and shakes.  
  
The haunches disfigure further. And it looks incredibly painful, it does - the reconstruction of a small pelvic bone, while the stronger, larger femur grows. In a matter of seconds the entire lower half of the wolf is grown, stretched, misshapen and rewired. The wolf shrieks its pain especially loud as - most horrifyingly - its genitalia inverts, becomes external, and all the hair retreats into the pale, naked flesh, leaving only a fine dusting of blond on its arms and legs.  
  
It arches its wither-shoulder blades against on the ground, its chest held aloft. The half-beast half-man thing still retains the spinal ridge. Finland imagines it must pain the poor thing to keep something so curved and bony on solid, flat ground.  
  
Just as he thinks it, the beast finally flops, and collapses stomach-down, against the ice, wheezing and whining like a shriek is beyond his capability. It's reduced to low moans, and the shakes grow worse. It tries to dig at the ice but it's futile; the paws no longer have claws and the wolf might as well be beating a fist against a boulder for all the good it does.  
  
It hides its face under its arms.  
  
On the rump-side, its tail shrinks and disappears into two mounds of pale flesh, which slowly round out. And as the spinal ridge finally flattens, the rest of the fur grows thin and patchy as it shrinks and is sucked back into the pores.  
  
The creature - man, it's a man, judging by the - well, the genitals, certainly! But also the hips - not wide, and the waist, not narrow. The man doesn't move. He stays where he is, his chest rising and falling so fast with breath that it displaces his entire upper body against the ice. Sweat covers his skin, makes it glisten and sparkle in the evening sun.  
  
He covers his face with two hands that are still clenched into fists and held like paws, the knuckles a bright mess of congealing, frozen red.  
  
Pale skin, blond hair. About Finland's height, but unlike Finland, very little fat around the belly. Slender legs and waist. It might be the shock talking of watching something so supernatural but Finland immediately finds him beautiful. There might be nothing quite like this man in this world.  
  
Moments pass before the man musters the strength to look up. He lifts his face, and tilts back and forth, first with his whole upper body and then with just the neck, like he's testing its ability to support the weight of his head and hold it up. If this man has been a wolf for very long, thinks Finland, maybe he hasn't used those muscles in that way for some time. Maybe he's never used them in that way. Wolves can't really crane their heads skywards without the entire physique angled up. The man rolls his shoulders, testing their movement like this body is completely, utterly foreign to him.  
  
The man spies Finland and moans. That pathetic noise isn't even close to language.  
  
"What?" Finland gasps. "What do you need, what can I do for you, are you alright?"  
  
But the man doesn't reply, just collapses back on the ice. He runs his hand over the flat, cold surface and presses his cheek up against it. He pouts. His big, green eyes shred Finland's heart.  
  
He must not understand Finland's language. He tries Sweden's, then the little that he knows of Norway's and Denmark's.  
  
Nothing, the man doesn't move.

"Are you cold? the ice?" Finland asks. His fingers fly to unpin his cloak and remove it. "Here," he offers, extending the fabric out and trying not to get too close. "Here, take it."  
  
The man takes one look at the cloak and grimaces. "Aaanh," he moans.  
  
Finland throws the cloak in the air to settle it comfortably over the wolf-man's body but the second the material touches his skin the man pushes it away with a pained grunt. So Finland rips it off again. The man crawls over to the riverbank, his limbs so weak they barely support his weight, and covers his skin with freshly fallen snow. It appears to soothe him.  
  
"You'll be so cold if you do that for long," Finland warns. "You'll get sick!" Wolves understand sickness, don't they? He approaches slowly, and kneels next to the man. He tries for comforting, tries to put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
The skin is burning hot, but the man lets him lay hands on it. He even seems to enjoy the touch. Very carefully Finland strokes his thumb back and forth and for a sacred moment the man tolerates this too until he moans again and brushes Finland away with a clumsy blow.  
  
His skin is so soft, so smooth, unblemished and unscarred, though bright red. Certainly it can't be the case that, as a wolf, he had never seen struggle. A wolf that large!  
  
The wind picks up a bit and as the man leans into it and lets it ruffle his bangs, Finland catches the scent of fish.  
  
That reminds him. Sweden, Norway and Denmark will be expecting him, wondering where he is... he hadn't written them a note, and he left hours ago. Sweden might hazard a guess where to find him, Sweden knows his usual fishing holes ... but what if Sweden should come across this man?  
  
I should tell someone, thinks Finland.   
  
But he isn't even sure if they'll understand him. They have their own customs, their own gods - do they see half-man, half-wolves as poor lost souls, to be pitied, or as demons to be slain? Finland thinks of Denmark with his axe and frets. The poor wolf can't even walk! He couldn't hope to defend himself.  
  
Maybe Finland can just come visit while the other three are busy.   
  
And so, after building him a small fire (which the man shies away from, but if he dislikes fire then so will other predators, and he'll be safe), Finland winds up leaving the cloak and his shirt nearby, just in case, even if the wolf-man doesn't touch them, and walks back to his place bare-chested.  
  
"Y'traded," says Sweden when Finland returns. He is outside, smoking something from a long pipe, with Denmark. "Yer clothes fer th' fish? Must be some great fish!"  
  
"Njord likes trades, but taking clothing's a new one," Denmark jokes.  
  
They both laugh, and Finland gives them a weak smile despite not understanding the joke.


	3. Chapter 3

Finland doesn't enjoy that night's festivities, even though the drink flows like blood of a stuck bird, in that it is plentiful and life-giving, but it's all utterly lost on him. He thinks only of the wolf, his poor wolf friend, and the way he screamed as he transformed. It's embedded into Finland's mind, the image branded through his eyes and ears.  
  
More than once he tries to find a way to leave the party and excuse himself for an hour, just to check on the wolf. Every single time his escape is thwarted.  
  
At midnight, he gives up trying. Wolves have thick coats, they're used to winters, he tells himself.  
  
But not winters like these. The Eastern sea actually formed ice bridges this year, suppose the wolf is from the south, somewhere slightly warmer, and walked up? And then, there is the plain and simple fact that  _his_  wolf lacks a coat.  
  
He can't drink with the wolf on his mind like that, can't properly lose himself in the fuzzy mindlessness, and hours later finds him lying awake next to Norway who snores softly. Finland wishes he had that kind of peace.   
  
He waits until they are all asleep and dresses as quietly as he can. Denmark and Norway are oblivious; Sweden stirs in his sleep but rolls over with a mumble when Finland whispers he's only going out to relieve himself and will be back shortly. He creeps out to see the wolf, armed with an extra blanket and a few furs. It isn't enough, it's not shelter, but it'll do.  
  
When he arrives he finds the fire has died to a quiet ember. He kicks it alive again and places a log on top of it to catch.  
  
His wolf has wrapped himself up in Finland's cloak and shirt though he has donned neither in any conventional way - he doesn't appear to know what to do with things like armholes and sleeves. His lips are blueish, and his skin is frozen, but he's alive. Supernatural beings like him must be a little more tenacious. Still, Finland tuts and shakes his head, then prods the wolf-man awake.  
  
Blearily, the wolf-man blinks but recognises him and smiles. Finland feels his stomach flip and smiles back.  
  
"Come on, you," he says, "up you get." The wolfman emits an unhappy grunt and clutches Finland's cloak harder. "No, I'm going to make you a bed with it. Come on." His wolf refuses to let it go.  
  
"Fine, be that way," Finland says finally, and spreads the blanket he's brought over a bed of evergreen needles. Not the choicest mattress, but they'll keep some of the wet off. "Now you," Finland says, but the wolfman doesn't move.  
  
He rolls his eyes. What to do with a stubborn wolf you can't communicate with? He figures maybe it's best to lead by example and lies on top of the makeshift mattress himself, then pulls some of the furs over him. "Like this, see?" He pats the space next to him. "Now you, over here."  
  
The wolf-man smiles again, widely and toothily, and crawls over to Finland. He plants himself in the middle, taking up half of Finland's personal space, and nestles next to him, snuggled up close to his side. "You're  _freezing_ , you damn stupid wolf!" Finland exclaims.  
  
"Mmm," the wolf-man murmurs, into Finland's neck.  
  
"And I really have to get back," he adds.  
  
The wolf-man hugs him tighter.  
  
Finland gives him a greater share of the furs and pulls the cloak that he left the wolf-man earlier over them both. He has every intention of waiting for the wolf-man to fall asleep so that he can return to his friends, but alas for Finland, he falls asleep first.  
  
\--

Finland wakes up hours later after the sun has risen. He doesn't know where the sun is in the sky, since the trees obscure the horizon, he can only tell that day has broken. It may be anywhere from morning to mid-afternoon.  
  
His wolf has not moved, curled up against him with an arm around his waist, their legs intertwined. Finland frowns.  
  
The intimacy of the pose is not what bothers Finland. No, what bothers him is his awkward post-sleep erection, lodged firmly ( _very_  firmly) against the wolf-man's thigh.  
  
How to extricate himself from this? He doesn't want to offend - or mislead. It's a natural thing, isn't it? An animal would understand this sort of unconscious mechanism, wouldn't it? Suppose he takes it for some sort of signal ...  
  
No matter what his wolf will think, Finland  _does_  have to get back to Sweden and the others. They'll probably assume Finland's gone out fishing, but suppose they've been up for hours! Then what will he tell them?  
  
Finland reaches for the wolf-man's arm from his waist, planning to repose it on the warm blanket they slept on. But the second he makes contact with the wolf's skin, his bright green eyes are wide open.  
  
The wolf-man gives him a sleepy smile and tugs him closer.  
  
Well. No such hope of an easy escape, it seems, and Finland tries instead to push him away by pressing at his chest.  
  
His wolf moans. Wrong move. It appears he is still sensitive there. The wolf-man tucks his head in closer to Finland's neck and licks. Despite not ever having been canine himself and at a loss to explain the mentality, Finland feels certain these are not the washing-type but rather the kissing-type of lick. Finland sighs, the sensation of hot wet breath against his neck pleasantly stifling him, and instead of putting any distance between them, he cranes his neck up and exposes his throat.  
  
The wolf-man mumbles something against his collarbone, but that's the only warning Finland has before he is pushed onto his back, into the blanket, and the wolf-man climbs on top of him. There's no way his wolf has missed the hardness between his legs; in fact, the man is similarly affected and as he ruts his cock against Finland's thigh gracelessly, like an animal would, only part of Finland feels all that conflicted.  
  
The rest of him is strangely flattered with the affection. Very flattered. A supernatural being, his wolf -  _his_. He found him, didn't he? Natural that they should do this, and with that thought Finland returns the motions, his hips driving upwards, the friction of Finland's pants rubbing them both, the only thing between them (for the wolf-man has yet to don a stitch of clothing and at this rate may never).  
  
Finland rubs both the man's nipples, hard, when he slides his hands down his chest; the wolf-man arches against Finland, stiffens and comes with a soft cry. Then Finland reaches for his hips and holds them firmly against his body to finish himself.  
  
If Finland's grasp on his wolf's hips hurts him anymore, he doesn't complain. In fact, he waits for Finland to tilt his head up and bites him hard on the throat with teeth that feel too large to be entirely human. If Finland is honest with himself, that's what pushes him into orgasm more than anything else.  
  
The wolf-man happily collapses into his arms on top of him, mashing their bodies together and making an even bigger mess of Finland's pants by spreading come everywhere, inside and out. (That will be really, really difficult to explain to Sweden and Norway. Denmark, maybe less so.)  
  
"I really do have to get going," Finland pants. "I can't stay."  
  
"Stay," the wolf-man mumbles. The utterance is sluggish and clumsy but it's the first real word Finland has heard him speak. His heart leaps.

Finland cups the wolf-man's cheek and strokes the skin back and forth with his thumb in a gesture he hopes conveys the promise he intends. "But I'll come back!"  
  
"Come back," the wolf-man echoes.  
  
Finland calmly takes the wolf-man's hands in his own and puts them beside him so that he can slip out from underneath. He tucks the man in and tells him, "Later, I'll be back later. Get some rest."  
  
"Come back," the wolf-man repeats.  
  
He turns his back on the wolf-man - on his wolf - and starts walking.  
  
But he only makes it a few hundred paces before he catches the near-silent tread of feet and a huff of air now and then that isn't his own.  
  
Finland turns, to find the wolf-man, who has followed him this far and stayed a careful few paces behind, swathed in the cloak that covered their bodies but otherwise naked. "No," Finland says sternly, "I said stay there!" He points back to the fire, the only noticeable landmark of where they laid. "You have to stay there. I'll be back later with more food for you."  
  
"Food," the wolf-man repeats. "Food, eat."  
  
"Yes, exactly!" Finland replies, delighted to finally get somewhere. "Food that you can eat. But later."  
  
"Later food eat," the wolf-man says.  
  
"Yes," Finland says. Thank the gods, he's finally understanding. The wolf-man shuffles his feet and looks away. Finland turns his back and continues along.  
  
This time, the wolf-man is more careful, because Finland doesn't even realise he's there until Finland spots Sweden, who is out and evidently looking for him. Finland hears a snarl and looks back to see the wolf again, right behind him, his teeth bared. He could swear the wolf-man's ears are pulled back, even though that's not something humans can do.  
  
"You see?" Finland says. "My friends. They're waiting for me, wondering where I am."  
  
"Friends," the wolf-man replies. "Not friends."  
  
"Not your friends. Go back to the fire. Warm, heat, the blanket, the furs? Go back there."  
  
The wolf-man appears to understand. "There," he says, and then, to Finland's mortification, "where you and I -"  
  
" _Yes_ ," Finland interrupts harshly, his cheeks flaming hot. "Yes, there. Just go!"  
  
The wolf-man gives him a very angry stare. "Later, you come back," he says, and only then does he turn and walk away.  
  
Finland watches him leave and makes sure he's out of sight before he runs over to rejoin Sweden.


	4. Chapter 4

Fish is not enough for leftovers, so someone has to go out hunting again. Naturally, Finland volunteers and insists on solitude.  
  
Of course, he will also go out to hunt, he'll bring home some hare this time, but what he doesn't tell the others is his real reason for wandering around in the forest.  
  
His real reason, who might be hungry, and thirsty, and cold, and who is all wrapped up in Finland's cloaks and furs with Finland's scent all over his body.  
  
As he's sharpening his bootknife, Sweden takes him aside. "'M sorry," he begins awkwardly. "We been here awhile. I know y'don't - what 's like, with these two, an' sometimes y'get used t' bein' alone, 'n then you gotta start playin' host an' bein' friendly, that saps yer energy - anyway. I know what it's like."  
  
Do you really, Finland wonders. He sets aside the whetstone.  
  
"I c'n entertain 'em if y'jus need some time alone," Sweden offers.  
  
"That would be great," Finland replies.  
  
\--  
  
He sinks an arrow through the head of a rabbit from a far distance away and brings it with him to his wolf. His wolf sits straight up, a bright grin on his face, and hardly waits for Finland to cut through the carcass before he paws Finland's hands away, rips off a piece and shoves it in his mouth, uncooked. Digging into it like an animal, blood all over his face and cheeks. But his smile is so infectious.  
  
Finland, for his part, skins the remainder and slices the meat thinly to balance it on sticks perched over the coals.  
  
The wolf-man wipes his face off with his arm, and then tries to lick the smeared blood off his hands. Finland shakes his head and uses snow to rinse his poor silly wolf clean. He gives the wolf a little water and waits until the gleaming toothy smile he gets isn't red anymore before he swoops in and kisses the wolf-man deeply on the mouth.  
  
The lingering taste of blood doesn't stop him. Animal, this is an animal, he thinks, but he mostly doesn't care. And what part of him does care, likes it.  
  
My wolf, Finland thinks,  _mine_ , and he holds his wolf down flat on his back and bites his neck when the wolf-man arches submissively to give him access, delighting in the sound of his wolf's cries.  
  
Later, after the sweat is cooling on their bodies, the wolf-man says, "Your friends."  
  
"Yes?" Finland prompts.  
  
"Not like me," the wolf-man says.  
  
"No," he replies sadly.  
  
"But  _you_  like me," the wolf-man adds.  
  
They are naked together underneath Finland's cloaks and furs. Finland can't stop thinking in terms of possession.  _Like_  hardly covers a facet of his sentiments. He smiles shyly and says with a blush, "Well, yes, of course I like you," and holds his wolf closer.  
  
The wolf-man frowns. "No," he says, "no, you like me. You I same. Brothers, forest."  
  
Brothers, he thinks. Finland feels a little guilty because brothers only goes so far. There may come a day when people try to make him go places he doesn't want to - like how Sweden always seems to want him to stay over, longer and longer. Finland worries one day he won't return for a very long time to his own place.  
  
Where would his wolf be then? Waiting for his return, in the forest? Alone?  
  
"Still same," his wolf whispers, oblivious to Finland's turmoil, curled up in his arms. "Still brothers."  
  
\--

The next day Finland promises Sweden a deer for sure. And he will, he'll get a deer - but first things first, he wants to see his wolf.  
  
He pokes the fire alive again - warm food for his wolf this time. The wolf-man watches him work, leaning on his shoulder, watching him skin the small rabbit he brought and fix it on sticks.  
  
They sit, both fully dressed and snuggled together on the blankets in front of the coals, until the wolf-man straightens, sniffing the air. Once an animal, always an animal, Finland thinks. "Smells good, doesn't it?" he says.  
  
"No," the wolf-man says. He frowns. "Your friends are here."  
  
"How close?" Finland asks.  
  
"Close enough," the wolf replies.  
  
"Do you want me to hide you?"  
  
Slowly, the wolf-man shakes his head. "They will know," he says cryptically. Then he sighs and nuzzles Finland's neck again.  
  
But the reaction Finland expects them to have isn't anything like the one he gets. He expects them to ask why he was hiding a man out in the woods, why couldn't Finland just have brought him home? They had extra food, extra drink, they could have made space for a fifth.  
  
Sweden looks genuinely disturbed, and Denmark backs off. They both look at the wolf-man like he's a freak of nature. But they didn't see him change, they have no way of knowing he's not entirely human!  
  
Norway is the one who says it. "That's not its real form," he states, and then he closes his eyes and says something that sounds like "revert, demon".  
  
"No," pleads the wolf weakly.  
  
The changes are instant and thick, black and grey hair grows rapidly on the backs of his hands, spreading up through the sleeves. The man falls to his knees and grunts as the ridge on his spine reforms. His arms are pinned to his flank, the elbow shifts and becomes the bowed back legs. His hands clench into fists, the digits shorten and meld together to become paws, from which sprout the claws Finland remembers from a few days ago.  
  
The man doesn't say a thing, and the wolf doesn't scream this time, but he shudders and shakes and Finland sees the undeniable signs that the wolf, his beautiful wolf, is suffering.  
  
Once his legs have reformed, the pants Finland loaned him are too big for him and the wolf wriggles out of them easily. To Finland's utter dismay, the tail - long and whippy - springs free, although the wolf doesn't hold it up enough for Finland to believe that it shows anything but his discomfort.  
  
"Fenrir," Sweden breathes.  
  
"Kill it," Denmark says. "Send it back to Hel. He shouldn't be here, this isn't - it's not time."  
  
"Well, you fight him, then," Norway says, "I'm not losing a hand."  
  
"It's  _not him!_ " Finland cries. He steps in between them and the wolf to defend his poor transformed friend. Behind him, cowering by his calves, the wolf whimpers.  
  
"What's he doin', masqueradin' as a man?" Sweden wonders. "Means t' trick us?!"  
  
"You don't even know who you'd be looking for," Norway says. "Trust us. That's him."  
  
"It can't be," Finland begs.  
  
"But think of it! Have you ever seen a regular wolf that size?"  
  
"You  _hurt_  him," Finland continues.  
  
"I didn't," Norway says. "It's for his own good. He's not - he's not as he was. He's supposed to be one or the other but to be between the two, lost in a world not yours, that's - that's not right! How can one be animal and man? Tricking something. Tricking us!"  
  
"Says who?" asks Finland.  
  
"Says th' gods," Sweden replies.  
  
"Not mine," Finland snaps.

"And do your gods support monsters who are dead and alive as well?" asks Denmark. "You can't have two opposite things at once!"  
  
"You could have some qualities of one thing and some of another, couldn't you?" he argues. But nobody is really listening to him anymore and the damage is already done. "What if he was like me," Finland asks, thinking of how the wolf had said it -  _brother_.  
  
Denmark shakes his head. "I'd've known," he says. "You're not like him because - well. Anyway, I'd've known. And you don't need to change into a wolf when you hunt, do you?"  
  
"I've seen y'hunt," Sweden reminds. "When y'weren't lookin'."  
  
Finland glares. So Sweden was the one who followed him reported back to the others. Sweden was how they knew to find him here, with his wolf.  
  
"Y'don't change t' hunt, or under duress. Diff'rent people, diff'rent walks of life."  
  
But surely they were not so different?  
  
...And yet, the transformation back to wolf took so much less time. It almost seems logical - that's the wolf's real form after all.  
  
Then what was it he shared with Finland, was it a strange dream vacation of some sort?  
  
"Look," Denmark says reassuringly, "if it really is his natural form to be a man, then he will be. He can throw off whatever Norway's spells are - they're not that tough to do!"  
  
"Ex- _cuse_  me," interrupts Norway, "I like to think I've got some significant power."  
  
"You turned me into a toad once and it took me a half hour to get back."  
  
"It should've taken you a minute!"  
  
"That's 'cause I have all the magic of a blackfly."  
  
"Y'see?" Sweden offers. "If it's his actual form it won't take 'im long."  
  
They wait an hour. Then two. Finland pleads with the wolf, begging the man inside the animal to re-appear, or even show some sort of human-like nature.  
  
Nothing. If anything, the wolf is even more animal. It paws at the ground. It sits back on its hind legs and scratches its ear. And when Finland approaches it, it backs off and snarls.  
  
Finland's heart rips in two.  
  
"C'mon," Sweden says. "Y'gotta let 'im be."  
  
He feels at once the traitor and the betrayed and knows the wolf's eyes are watching them leave.  
  
\--  
  
Later around the fire, Finland is left to his thoughts a spell for drink flows particularly freely on heavy days, and today was heavy indeed. He thinks he hears the far-off howl of a wolf, unanswered by any pack, alone.  
  
He knows what he's doing now, Finland thinks. A wolf is safe out there alone in this weather, can provide for itself. A man, maybe not so much.  
  
Besides, he thinks as he watches his new friends, and then lets his gaze settle on the forest: brothers form a bond stronger still.  
  
He'll figure out what it is that made his wolf transform in the first place - was it being alone with Finland? Was it fishing? Hell, maybe it was the bread!  
  
Later - after Norway and Denmark and Sweden have left - he'll come back, like he promised.


End file.
